


we all have one foot in a fairy tale (and the other in the abyss)

by kayteedancer



Series: November Challenge [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Creeper Peter Hale, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fractured Fairy Tale, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Very AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 19:23:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12688659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayteedancer/pseuds/kayteedancer
Summary: “Shouldn’t you be safe at home?” the other man titled his head to the side, a small smirk playing across his lips.  “Tucked up in a swaddle of fine things and… domestic bliss?” The last words rumbled in an almost growl and the young man stared at him for a moment in silence before turning his gaze back to the night sky.“I needed air,” he replied.  “The trees, the hunt, the moonlight.  You are not the only one born with two skins, Peter.”“No,” Peter grinned, all sharp teeth and menace.  “But you gave up yours long ago.  We warned you, Stiles, what would happen if you chose this.”





	we all have one foot in a fairy tale (and the other in the abyss)

**Author's Note:**

> Back on time! Hey everyone! Here's my Day 10 addition. I'm back in the Teen Wolf universe with this one, and it is truly the Teen Wolf verse... kind of. It's very fairy tale, but solely under Teen Wolf's jurisdiction, I promise. The prompt for today was:  
>  _"Shouldn't you be safe at home, little girl?" asked the wolf. Sharp teeth and menace. "Tucked up in a swaddle of fine things and domestic bliss?"_  
>  _"I needed air," replied she. "The trees. The hunt. The moonlight. You are not the only one born with two skins, old friend."_  
>  _"No, but you gave up yours long ago. We warned you."_  
>  _"There's no point in having two skins if the elders would have me choose one. I gave up nothing. Let me pass."_
> 
> It was a long prompt today, and I kept as much of it as I could. I mostly just rearranged it and added things to make it make sense for my story, like changing the pronouns because this is about a male Stiles and not a female Stiles.
> 
> To all of you who have read and left kudos and commented, you are all rockstars! You're giving me such great feedback and I cannot express my thanks enough. You all make completing this (admittedly pretty crazy, for me) challenge amazing and fun! Love you all!
> 
> If you want to come talk to me over on tumblr (sleepeatdancedream), feel free! I would love to hear from you and get your reactions to my challenge so far as well as prompts for future installments.
> 
> That being said, I hope you enjoy my Day 10 addition!
> 
> Title is a quote by Paulo Coelho.

It had been too long.  A young man stared up at the roof, counting the thatches with darkness all around him and a restlessness suffusing his limbs.  His fingers twitched as his eyes scanned the room restlessly, mind unable to quiet as long as the full moon hung bright and heavy in the sky.

He sat up and braced his back against the wall, rubbing restless hands over his eyes.  The man heard a small moan come from the body next to him and he turned to look at his new wife.  Her hair was a tangle of flame wrapped around her, obscuring her lily-white skin and framing a heart-shaped face and perfect cupid’s bow mouth.  His wife was a vision; a goddess made flesh, the most beautiful woman in the village.  When she was awake, her vision was sharp with thinly veiled intelligence, and her voice dripped honey as well as knives.  He was besotted with her from the moment he first came to the town, from the first time he had seen her.  He couldn’t help himself; he had to have her, even if for a short time.

Because he _would_ only have her for a short time.

For a being that lives as long as he, taking wives has become a practice in melancholy.  He must fake his death and leave them to live without him or stay and watch them suffer and grow old before his eyes while he forever stayed the same: a young man with pale skin dotted with moles, cinnamon colored eyes and lithe hands with long, thief’s fingers.  He never aged, never looked any older than he had when he unleashed his magic all those years ago; when _they_ tried to force him to choose.

But even though they took the other part of him; tore it out of him and left his magic to fill up the empty spaces left behind, he still found himself needing _air_ , needing _the moonlight_.

Needing _out_ of more than just his “human” duties.

The man quickly dressed, shoving his feet into boots and layering clothes of green and grey and brown and midnight blue.  With one last glance at his sleeping wife, he slipped out the door and into the trees.

For a while he walked in silence, already feeling better as the moonlight danced over his skin.  Stopping in the middle of a clearing, the man turned his face up to the moon and closed his eyes.  Something within him stilled and _ached_ , like a phantom limb, and the man relished in the relief and in the pain the full moon brought him.

The man felt the world hush around him and let out a loud sigh.  Rolling his shoulders, he opened his eyes and turned to face a shadowed part of the trees at the edge of the clearing just to his left.

Lurid blue eyes shone in the darkness and the young man turned to face them directly.  As he did, a familiar form detached itself from the shadows and moved to the edge of the moonlight-filled glade, stopping just at the edge of the shadows.  He was a large man, tall, powerful, and his eyes burned electric blue as they stared into the young man’s.

“Shouldn’t you be safe at home?” the other man titled his head to the side, a small smirk playing across his lips.  “Tucked up in a swaddle of fine things and… domestic bliss?” The last words rumbled in an almost growl and the young man stared at him for a moment in silence before turning his gaze back to the night sky.

“I needed air,” he replied.  “The trees, the hunt, the moonlight.  You are not the only one born with two skins, Peter.”

At the sound of his name, the other man moved into the clearing, stopping a few feet from the younger man.  As moonlight touched the man’s skin, Peter’s features shifted, incisors lengthening as his brow grew heavier and his face became more animalistic than before.

“No,” Peter grinned, all sharp teeth and menace.  “But you gave up yours long ago.  We warned you, Stiles, what would happen if you chose this.”

Stiles felt his magic rise up within him, white-hot and swirling and _angry_.  He felt it buzz just beneath his skin, sparking at his fingertips.  His vision went silver-white at the edges and Stiles knew that his magic was making itself known.  Looking back at Peter, Stiles saw the man flinch slightly before schooling his face back into his small smirk.

“There’s no point having two skins if the elders would have me choose one,” Stiles replied, power thrumming through his words as his magic snapped angrily at his skin and shone brightly from his eyes.  “I gave up nothing.  Let me pass.”

Peter just stared at him for a moment, face blank, before moving to stand directly in front of the younger man, so close their chests were brushing.  Stiles stared into the werewolf’s eyes unflinchingly, blue and silver clashing in the moonlight.  Peter’s breath fanned over Stiles’s lips, warm and moist in the chill of the night, and Stiles felt his heart skip a beat.  He cursed internally as Peter’s smirk widened into a sharp, toothy grin.

“Really now, Stiles?  Still?  After all this time?” the werewolf murmured, his eyes flicking to the younger man’s lips.

Stiles grimaced as his heart skipped again, his eyes fading back to brown as shame filled him.  He snaked his hands up between them and pushed hard against Peter’s chest to gain some space.

“It’s not going to happen again, Peter.  Never again,” Stiles swore, turning his back on the wolf and making to leave the clearing.  He only made it a few steps before a clawed hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked him to a halt.

“C’mon, Stiles,” the werewolf purred in his ear.  “You can’t tell me you didn’t… _enjoy_ our time together.”  Stiles frowned, his free hand balling into a fist at his side.  “And besides, you said that the last time… and the time before that, and the time before that,” Peter continued, practically crooning.

Stiles felt his magic flare once more and loosened its tight leash.  Taking the slack and running with it, his magic blasted outwards in a shockwave, blowing Peter away from him and burning the werewolf’s skin where it had been in contact with his own.  Stiles looked back over his shoulder to the now peeved werewolf.

“Never. Again,” he vowed, and turned away from the other man, walking back towards his home and his new wife, determined to keep his word this time.

“Stay out of the woods, Stiles,” the werewolf snarled, threat lacing every word.  “And make sure your… little red, doesn’t venture too far from the path.  I would hate for something to happen to her.”

Stiles stopped in his tracks as he felt his magic flood against his barriers, white-hot and indomitable, surging along with his anger and making his vision white in fury.  Unable to keep it entirely in control, Stiles felt his magic charge the air around him, his aura morphing into a massive silver-white wolf.

“Don’t push me, Peter,” he growled.  “Or I might just have to see if my magic can take a werewolf down for good.”

The other man barked a laugh as he left the clearing, melting back into the shadows he came from.  Stiles waited until he felt Peter’s presence pass from his awareness and then continued his journey back home, his magic fading back into his skin.

When he crawled back into bed, his wife turned to face him, eyes sharp on his even half-asleep.  “Everything alright?” she asked, eyes flicking over his face as if searching for injury.

Stiles forced a half-smile to his face as he nodded, wrapping his arms around her and hauling her close.  “Just a walk in the moonlight.  Needed to clear my head,” he murmured, and she stared at him for a moment before acquiescing, narrowing her nose in his collarbone.

Stiles looked back to the ceiling above him and resumed counting the thatches in the roof.  There would be no sleep for him tonight, not until the full moon had faded and the sun returned.


End file.
